She Stole My Cursed Dress—Now Death Follows Her

I already had an aura that screamed "stay away."

Anyone who got close would feel an inexplicable chill, their heart skipping for no reason. And unlike Rose, I didn't throw money around to buy friends.

Over time, the contrast between us became stark. Rose arrived at school like a princess, swarmed by admirers. I was the freak everyone avoided.

The boys who'd once tried approaching me? They all gave up eventually.

Aaron Chavez was the first to defend his "goddess." The jock glared at me, eyes blazing. "Delia, everyone knows Rose's daily allowance is more than your entire year's living expenses. Head to toe, she's dripping in designer. And you're saying she stole from you?" He scoffed. "Have you no shame?"

The sycophants piled on immediately.

"Take a look in the mirror."

"With your face? You think you can afford limited-edition luxury?"

"Some people are just delusional."

"Riding on being Rose's cousin, trying to take what isn't yours."

"Rose was born with that rich-girl aura. Everything looks designer on her. But you? Country bumpkin. Even real brands look like knockoffs on you."

"What you're doing is disgusting."

"We despise you."

Most of the class raised their middle fingers at me, faces twisted with contempt. Some went further—calling me a shameless parasite, a vampire trying to steal from Rose. They said having a cousin like me was "a disgrace to the family."

Every insult they could think of, they hurled at me.

I was trying to protect Rose from the dark energy clinging to those items. And for that, I became the villain.

Rose watched it all with a satisfied smile, lips curving upward. "Cousin, don't say I'm bullying you. I'll give you a chance to prove yourself." Her voice dripped with false sweetness. "Just show us the receipt. If you can, I'll admit I stole it."

She paused.

"So? Can you?"

The whole class stared, waiting.

Rose looked so confident. Obviously, she'd torn my room apart and found nothing.

She knew I couldn't produce a receipt.

As for where I'd actually gotten the outfit? She didn't care. As long as it was real, that was enough for her.

When I stayed silent, her smirk widened.

"Can't produce it?" She reached into her pocket. "Here. Look at this."

Aaron snatched the slip of paper, scanned it, and grinned. "This is the proof of purchase for the outfit. Delia's just slandering Rose."

The mockery intensified. They called me shameless, pathetic—a girl so desperate for designer brands she'd frame her own cousin.

Rose basked in their support, more smug than ever.